


Alarm Bells

by Socket



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, Fridget, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:39:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6922570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Socket/pseuds/Socket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an alarm is set-off <i>Wentworth</i> goes into lock-down. Trapped in her office with Franky, will Bridget be able to resist her urges?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alarm Bells

**Timeline:** Post 3x06: Evidence

The late afternoon sun saturated Bridget's office, filling the room with a soft amber light. The office was warm; none of the windows opened, for security reasons.

Bridget's hair was pulled back and she wore a tight-fitting burgundy skirt suit that Franky heartily approved of.

The blonde sat in her customary seat across from Franky. Legs crossed, hands resting on the chair arms and wearing a serene expression. She looked regal.

"Okay, let's start today's session with a little exercise," Bridget suggested.

Franky's eyebrows rose mischievously. "I'm all for working-up a sweat, Gidge," she joked.

Bridget contained a sigh. "I want to work on your sense of self value. I'd like you to list five qualities you like about yourself."

"Yeah, then maybe we could braid each other's hair," Franky mocked and threw the blonde a long, soulful look.

Bridget licked her lips nervously. She hated it when Franky gave her those penetrating side-long glances. It unnerved her. Bridget was used to being in control and Franky kept undermining that, kept needling her.

The office suddenly seemed stuffy. The silence stretched between them; fractious and tangible.

"Come on Franky," Bridget entreated.

"Or what – you'll be disappointed in me?" Franky said pointedly, but there was an underlying trepidation in her voice. Like she actually gave a fuck.

Bridget felt like Franky was punishing her. There'd been an unease between them since she'd discovered the brunette throttling Liz in the corridor. Bridget wished she could take back her "we're done" declaration - she'd said it on impulse and her words had hurt their patient/therapist relationship.

"The only person you're letting down is yourself," Bridget stated.

Franky folded her hands across her stomach and shrugged nonchalantly. "Righto. Five qualities I like about myself…" She concentrated. "Number 1 - I'm good with my tongue. Ask any of the girls in here." Franky's eyes gleamed beneath the heavy eye make-up she wore like war paint.

Bridget pursed her lips in that half-annoyed, half-frustrated way that drove Franky to distraction. What she wouldn't give to see Bridget truly ruffled, to see her lose it. Franky chewed her bottom lip and ran her eyes over the psychologist. She'd lost count of the amount of fantasies she'd had about Bridget Westfall. She's never been this captivated before.

Bridget shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under such intense scrutiny. She uncrossed her legs and clenched her fists.

Doyle's smirk widened. "You alright Gidge? Seem a bit flustered. Hope it wasn't something I said."

Bridget shot Franky a shrivelling look. "I'm trying to help you."

Franky had a smart-arse reply on the tip of her tongue but she swallowed it. Sometimes she bored herself, playing the mischief-maker.

Franky loved the flirtatious banter with Bridget but the raw moments always startled her. The unflinching way Bridget confronted her on her bullshit. Their sessions were always bittersweet. She got a lot from Bridget but she also gave a lot of herself away. It was dangerous, especially in here. People used your weaknesses against you.

Franky could tell the psychologist wasn't in the mood for her usual antics and she didn't want to leave, didn't want to return to her dingy cell or the sea of unfriendly faces in her unit. So she held Bridget's eye and gave a small nod.

"We'll do it your way. Number 1. I'm a good cook."

"Number 2?" Bridget encouraged.

"I make friends easily. People find me irresistible. It's a curse really."

Bridget tried not to smile. "3?" she pressed.

"I'm direct. Saves a lot of time."

"4?"

Franky drummed her fingers against the arm of her chair. She eyed Bridget. The blonde was always so self-contained, so confident… Franky imagined her stripped and panting for breath beneath her, hair ruffled and cheeks pink from exertion, chest heaving…

"4?" Bridget persevered.

"I'm an incurable flirt. It's my calling - to hit on hot girls. I really like that about myself!"

Involuntarily Bridget crossed her legs - immediately aware that Franky would read something into it. Her taut skirt rode up her thighs by half an inch but Bridget resisted the urge to adjust it – she refused to let Franky make her feel self-conscious.

Franky didn't miss a trick. "Having a bad day Gidge? You wanna talk about it?" the inmate teased.

Despite herself, Bridget smiled. A crooked, subtle smile.

Franky felt buzzed; she loved making Bridget smile.

Bridget folded her hands in her lap. "Number 4?" she persisted.

Franky hated this. Introspection wasn't her forte - it didn't come naturally. She ran on instinct and adrenaline. Act now, think later (if at all). That was her mantra.

"What do you think one of my many qualities are?" Doyle joked, tired of being on the spot.

"Bravery," Bridget replied sincerely and without hesitation.

Franky was floored. She stared at Bridget, overwhelmed. Her throat went dry and her chest felt hollowed out. Like her heart had been suspended. That Bridget considered her brave was astonishing. Franky looked away, embarrassed at how much Bridget's opinion mattered to her.

Sometimes what Franky wanted to express was too big for words. This was one of those moments. She wanted to tell Bridget oh so many things… but remained silent.

Feeling she'd hit a raw nerve, Bridget leaned forward. "What's on your mind?" the psychologist asked, noticing the faraway look on Franky's face.

"You," the brunette answered honestly.

The mocking tone was gone and there was an intensity in Franky's eyes that winded Bridget. Franky's bluntness was disarming at the best of times but right now, there was also an unexpected vulnerability in her.

Bridget smiled kindly, her voice low and soothing. "I can't help you if you keep deflecting my questions."

"I'm not." Franky looked down at her hands, which fidgeted of their own volition. "I mean it. You're the only person I've got to talk to. The only person who's ever remotely happy to see me."

Bridget's brow furrowed with sympathy. "Does it bother you that the women don't view you in the same light now you're no longer top dog?"

"Yeah, it's pretty shitty," the brunette admitted.

For all her bravado, it cuts her. Usually in the small hours, alone in her cell, in the dark uncertainty of night when she can hear her own heart beat and the sound of her fellow inmates crying into their pillows. That's when it grips her; fear, loneliness, hopelessness… all her mistakes and bad choices.

"You can change their opinion," Bridget claimed.

Bridget sounded like a bloody motivational speaker. It grated Franky.

Doyle stood up and began to pace, venting her pent-up energy. She was always restless – that's what got her in fixes. She'd been like that since childhood.

Bridget's eyes followed Franky as she moved about the room. Raking over her body, spilling over curves and contours. Bridget tried to rein in her carnal thoughts (there were many things she'd like to do alone in a room with Franky).

Franky stopped in front of the green and yellow art deco painting hanging on the wall. She studied it for a moment and then turned to Bridget, her eyes sparkling. "Jeeze, I hope you have better taste in women than you do art, Gidget."

The psychologist raised her eyebrows in amusement. "I didn't pick it," she assured.

Franky's smirk was back and Bridget groaned internally. It was exhausting trying to keep up with Franky. She could switch so fast it made Bridget's head spin.

The brunette moved purposefully towards Bridget, a seductive swing to her hips. Bridget averted her eyes as Franky drew close. She wouldn't give Franky the satisfaction of ruffling her again. She had to maintain –

Franky's fingertips grazed the back of Bridget's hand and brushed leisurely along her forearm; alighting every nerve ending in the psychologists body. All rational thoughts flew from her mind. The contact was fleeting but her heart hammered in reaction and her breathing became shallow. She struggled to maintain her composure.

Franky stood behind the blonde. She folded her arms across the back of Bridget's chair and leant forward, her lips close to Bridget's ear.

Bridget felt the warmth of Franky's breath against her neck, felt the heat of her body pressing close, smelt the heady scent of the perfume Franky always wore and her shoulders tensed.

Franky knew the effect she was having as she spoke in a sultry whisper, "I guess it has its merits. Strong lines. Vivid colours. Voluptuous curves." She was so close she could see the goosebumps rise on the psychologists flesh and smiled. "Note the soft strokes along the bottom, luring us in… inviting us to drink in the view…"

Bridget's breath hitched and she hated her body for betraying her. Bridget leaned forward in her seat, breaking the intimacy of the moment. She glanced over her shoulder at Franky, self-control kicking in. "I didn't have you down as an art critic."

Franky straightened up, a roguish smile on her lips. "I'm full of surprises."

Playfully she sauntered back to her seat and flopped down. Only when she was at a distance did Bridget relax.

This situation was becoming impossible. Everything between them was sexually charged. Innuendo was in every exchange. Lust laden in every look. Bridget ignored it at first – thought of it as harmless banter, just one of Franky's defence tactics. Now she was riddled with explicit fantasies and pent-up sexual frustration. It was inappropriate and unprofessional.

But there was Franky gazing at her again… the room seemed to shrink and contract.

She tried not to want Franky's touch, not to imagine Franky's fingernails digging into her bare skin or envisage the brunette throwing her head back and moaning as Bridget ran her tongue over… Bridget shook her head to clear it. It was beyond frustrating. Whenever she was around Franky her mind became foggy… clogged-up with desires…

"If you're into bad girls with an appreciation for art and low self-esteem, I'm your girl," Franky jested.

Bridget felt a headache coming on, her patience was shredded. "Stop treating these sessions like a joke, Franky," she snapped.

Franky cocked her head sideways and grinned flirtatiously. "Oh, I'm very serious Gidget. I have a couple of tats I'd like to show you - as one art lover to another. R rated," and she winked cheekily.

Bridget clicked her tongue in annoyance and held Franky's eye - her gaze was unflinching. Undaunted. Weary.

Franky looked away; feeling guilty about her incongruous behaviour. Bridget always got a little too close for comfort and being glib was the only way she knew how to put distance between them.

Bridget stood up abruptly and Franky's eyes darted back to her.

Shit, she'd gone too far.

"Maybe we should call it a day," Bridget proposed as she moved towards her desk.

Franky jumped to her feet and tried to think of something to say to buy time. This was the highlight of her week - getting to spend time alone with the psychologist. Doyle opened her mouth to speak but was cut-off by the screech of an alarm bell.

The prison alarm pierced the air; shrill and angry.

Franky and Bridget exchanged a startled look. Then Bridget headed for the door of her office and threw it open. She peered into the corridor - Miss Miles, who had accompanied Franky to her therapy session, greeted Bridget immediately.

"Back inside Ms Westfall. You too Doyle," Miles instructed.

"What's happening?" Franky demanded.

Miss Miles' eyes narrowed. "We're on lock-down. Don't know any more than that as yet. Stay put - I'll be back for you later." She turned to Bridget. "She okay in your care?"

Bridget nodded and with that confirmation, Miss Miles hurried off to perform her emergency duties.

The siren continued – jarring and deafening - as Bridget closed the office door.

She turned to see Doyle gazing fixedly at her. "Well, Gidge. You didn't have to go to such lengths to get me totally alone!"

Bridget rolled her eyes. This was all she needed. Stuck in a confined space with Franky for an indefinable amount of time. Holy shitballs.

The alarm reverberated through the office, making the furniture tremor.

Bridget headed towards her desk and sat behind it; using it as a barrier between them.

Franky instantly knew what she was doing - nothing about Gidget escaped her attention. It pleased her; that she unnerved Bridget. That she had as big an impact on Bridget as the psychologist had on her. Franky wasn't used to needing someone. Sex was fun but she'd never wanted anything serious or long-term… until now. And part of her resented Bridget for bringing out this vulnerable streak, this side of her she doesn't recognise, isn't comfortable with… she doesn't like feeling conquerable.

Bridget rubbed her temples, trying to ignore the alarm. "Can we start again? Without the bullshit?" she asked.

Franky nodded. "I want to talk to you - but you've got to give me something back."

Bridget regarded Franky cautiously. "Like what?"

"I don't know, like… Why did you decide to become a psychologist? What's your favourite colour? Your favourite band? Anything! I don't do one-sided, Gidge. If you want me to trust you, you've got to trust me first," Franky insisted.

Bridget thought about this. She knew, for Franky, it was true. Normally she wouldn't dream of divulging personal information but for Franky she always seemed to make an exception.

"I wanted to give hope to people in a hopeless situation. Give them another chance. Maybe it's naïve but I believe in second chances. We all fuck up. It shouldn't be held against us forever," she frowned, deep in thought as she added. "Blue is my favourite colour. I don't have a favourite band but I really dig punk rock."

Smiling brightly, Frank sat opposite Bridget - an openness in her body language that wasn't there before. "See. Wasn't so hard."

Bridget returned the smile. It was brighter than an imploding sun and Franky took a deep breath. Jesus, she really has no idea how beautiful she is. And as she gazed at Bridget her knees filled with water and her heart plummeted about 20,000 feet.

Bridget rested her elbows on the desktop. "Why do you keep self-sabotaging? Do you think you don't deserve to be released? Or deserve forgiveness? Or deserve a shot at a normal life?"

Franky's shoulders went rigid. She was back on her feet, back on the defensive. "Who wants a 'normal' life? Join those poor fuckwits who sweat their balls off 9 to 5 so the big boss man makes a profit while they go home every night to a crappy flat, barely able to make ends meet? You think I want to be like them?!" Franky scoffed.

Bridget leaned back in her chair. "Yes. I do," she retorted coolly.

Franky slammed her hands down on the desktop. It was a scare tactic meant to jolt Bridget but Bridget didn't flinch. She sat there calmly gazing up at Franky. Refusing to react. Refusing to be afraid or annoyed or show any fucking emotion at all - which infuriated Franky.

"Why are we talking about this anyway? I'm never getting out of here! I'll stuff-up my parole. Somehow I'll stuff it up. That's what I do. I destroy. Everyone knows it - expect you!"

Bridget leapt to her feet and levelled Franky's gaze. The inmates defeatism was driving her nuts and that bloody alarm was still ringing. Drilling through her nerves.

"Cut the self-pity crap! It's getting old," she yelled, her blue eyes blazed with indignation. "You're smart. Stop fighting the system and use it to get what you want!"

With one swift move Franky flipped Bridget's desk over, sending it crashing to the floor, and thrust Bridget up against the wall. Rage in her eyes.

Bridget gasped from the unexpectedness of it as her back hit the wall. She was cornered as Franky pressed into her, their faces mere inches apart. Their lips dangerously close.

Franky's palms were flush against the wall on either side of Bridget's head and her chest heaved with scarcely contained fury. Franky's eyes fixed on Bridget's mouth. She couldn't breathe, couldn't focus on anything else… she wanted to kiss Bridget so badly. She struggled to resist the impulse… they both had to want this.

Bridget swallowed hard, trying to ignore the throbbing between her legs. Tingles coated her skin as she relished the feel of the younger woman rammed against her. Franky's fierce eyes bore into hers; smouldering and intense.

Overcome by the moment, Bridget stopped thinking. The parole board, her career and all the other reasons this was a bad idea drifted away… She desperately wanted Franky. Wanted to admit her feelings. Franky had affected her from the beginning, aroused her deepest needs. It was time to stop hiding.

"Do you want me to stop?" Franky whispered huskily.

Those words burned away any of Bridget's reserves. She ran her fingertips across Franky's lips, giving in to her crushing desire.

"No," Bridget murmured, gripping the inmate's hips and pulling Franky taut against her body.

They were both rendered breathless with anticipation.

Franky's knee slid between Bridget's legs, forcing them apart.

Bridget inhaled sharply. The room grew smaller, hotter… unbearably hot… her skin was burning… blistering… and that damn alarm was still ringing… Throbbing. Pounding. Relentless. Flooding every inch of the office.

Franky lowered her mouth to Bridget's neck and felt the psychologist's pulse jump beneath her lips. Slowly she trailed kisses down Bridget's throat; taking her time, savouring every moment.

Bridget's eyes flickered closed. The alarm pulsated in time with her body - in rhythm with the delicious things Franky was doing to her.

Franky moved down Bridget's body – caressing, squeezing and kissing.

She sank to her knees before the blonde and gently slid her hands up the back of Bridget's thighs, teasing her skirt up. Higher and higher. When she reached Bridget's hips, Franky hooked her thumbs under the silk material of Bridget's panties and without warning, ripped them off.

Bridget's heart stopped, her fingernails dug into her palms and she let out a guttural groan.

Franky ran her tongue up the inside of Bridget's thigh, intermittently licking and nipping the exposed skin with her teeth, making Bridget shiver.

The alarm covered the blonde's cries as Franky's head disappeared between her legs and that hot mouth was on her.

Franky's tongue expertly teased and stroked all the right places while her fingers skilfully delved and thrust into Bridget.

Bridget shut her eyes tightly as her muscles clenched and tightened around Franky's fingers and her hips arched as her orgasm built. She trembled and moaned as Franky held her firmly in place, delving deeper and harder into her.

Bridget thought her legs would buckle as her body soared and her mind tumbled into the abyss.

She came hard.

She's pretty sure she screamed Franky's name. Sure she gripped Franky's hair as her climax took over. But everything blurred.

As she floated back down, Franky's arms are around her, holding her, supporting her. Her skin glowed and her breath was ragged. She opened her eyes and Franky's face was close to hers, watching her with awe.

"You're so beautiful," Franky whispered.

Their lips locked together in a passionate kiss.

Franky pulled back. She glanced nervously into Bridget's eyes. This was the part where she expected Bridget to pull away, to distance herself. Instead the blonde stroked Franky's face, a tender smile on her lips.

"I guess we're done pretending," Bridget affirmed.

Franky laughed. "Yeah, I think that ship's sailed."

Bridget's thumb traced Franky's bottom lip and the inmate trembled beneath her touch, beneath the implication of her words.

"You were right," Bridget said softly, a sly grin played on her lips.

Franky leaned closer. "About what?"

"You are good with your tongue. We should definitely move that to number 1 on your list of qualities."

Franky's eyes lit-up with glee; she loved Gidget's naughty side. She gripped Bridget's shirt collar and kissed the psychologist hard.

After several more ardent kisses, they drew apart.

"I'll have to stop our one-to-one sessions. We can't be caught. It'll ruin your chances of parole," Bridget murmured as Franky brushed a loose strand of blonde hair out of her eyes.

Franky smiled because she believed that she was Bridget's priority. She hated the idea of not seeing the psychologist every day but she could bear it if she had the promise of a future. Because unlike everyone else in Franky's life – Bridget kept her promises.

"Will you wait for me?" Doyle asked tentatively.

Bridget's smile deepened. These glimpses of Franky's vulnerability made her love the younger woman more.

She kissed Franky softly and whispered. "Yes. You're worth the wait."

A blush ran up Franky's neck and into her cheeks. She dipped her head, embarrassed.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothin'," Franky replied quietly.

Bridget tilted Doyle's face up so their eyes met. "You deserve happiness, Franky."

And it was like she could read Franky's mind; it was wonderful and terrifying at the same time. Normally Franky would make a joke or kick the shit out of something to relieve the stress. Instead she closed the distance between them and placed a gentle kiss on Bridget's forehead.

Abruptly the alarm stopped. The sudden silence was like an intrusion on the private world they'd shrouded themselves in.

Reality crash landed. They moved apart and restored the overturned desk.

As Bridget bent to pick-up her discarded underwear, Franky quickly scooped the intimate item up.

"Hand them over," Bridget instructed and held out her hand.

Frank grinned that familiar cocky grin. "I think I'll keep hold of these, Gidget. A little reminder of today's events."

With that, Franky slipped the torn underwear into her tracksuit pocket.

Bridget's cheeks flushed crimson and her eyebrows knotted with exasperation. She was about to demand her underwear be returned when Miss Miles opened the office door.

"Ready to go back to your unit, Doyle?" She asked.

Franky nodded and moved towards the prison guard.

Bridget wanted to protest but knew she couldn't. She rubbed her neck, anxious. All it would take was one wrong word and they'd both be in deep shit.

Franky followed Miss Miles into the corridor and glanced over her shoulder at Bridget. She winked brazenly. "Have sweet dreams tonight Doc, I know I will!"

And she was gone.

Bridget wanted to be angry but found herself smiling. Damn. Franky would be the death of her.


End file.
